


Four Firsts

by CourierNinetyTwo



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/F, First Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-08
Updated: 2013-10-08
Packaged: 2017-12-28 21:11:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/996745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CourierNinetyTwo/pseuds/CourierNinetyTwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every matriarch was a maiden once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Aethyta

Her first time was quick, almost embarrassingly so.

Hacking her omnitool ID to fix her age had been easy. Convincing the bouncer to let her in was a little more difficult, but it was nothing compared to holding her liquor. Sips of ice brandy behind her friend’s house hadn’t prepared her for the burning swill poured by the pint inside the bar. Then again, she had chosen the cheap place that didn’t ask many questions.

Most of her ill-gotten credits were gone by the time a mercenary sidled up to the bar beside her. The maiden was just legal, by her lanky frame and the soldier’s brands recently tattooed on her cheek and shoulder. Each line of black ink looked striking against violet skin, bared by the tight cut of a tank top.

That wasn’t the only thing bared either. Aethyta choked on a sip of her beer when the merc looked her in the eye, already two shots in of a cloudy bottle of whiskey.

"Looking for some company?"

Gulping down the rest of her pint didn’t make her throat any less dry. It had to happen sometime, right? Her mother always told her fortune favored the brave. And sometimes, the drunk.

"Sure."

The fact that the merc knew about the back room with the dim lights and thin mattress should have clued her in to the fact that this wasn’t a first trip around the block, but there were no complaints about her fumbling, or the way she held tight after the initial strokes between her thighs like an overboard sailor to driftwood.

Afterwards, naked and a little sore, she took a lit cigarette from the merc’s hand when it was offered. The fact that the smoke went down easier than the beer certainly said something. They shared a few drags, and Aethyta finally found the courage to say what she’d wanted to all night.

"You have a magnificent rack."

She’d never seen a smile so bright. The merc put the cigarette out in a broken ashtray and turned to face her.

The second time was slower, gentle. She had never realized someone’s hands - hands like hers, roughly hewn from a life of work started years too early - could be so soft.


	2. Aria

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Includes the headcanon assumption that Aria used to be Aleena, mentioned in Mass Effect 1 by Wrex.
> 
> \---

Ground-up Hallex wasn’t the worst thing she’d ever tried. Sure, her nose and throat stung for a good minute, but the high was almost immediate. It was better than the home-brewed Videlicet the boss used to keep them up on watch; her fingers shook so much she could barely hold her shotgun.

She slowly stripped off her shirt, eager to be rid of the heat. Armali’s summer was brutal even through the darkened windows of the apartment, and her nerves were already singing from the Hallex. The water on the bedside table tasted particular clean and cool, soothing some of the warmth under her skin.

The rest of the gang was idling downstairs, playing Skyllian Five and downing shots of some batarian whiskey they’d liberated from a warehouse the week before. She’d nursed a hangover from it for three days, but the taste was well worth it. Playing cards would have passed the time, but the bets usually got out of hand, and she wasn’t in the mood to dodge a knife to the ribs or clean everyone’s boots under the table.

Pushing her pants down an inch or so, her fingers brushed over her newest scar, a gouge right in the hollow of her hip. The bullet had embedded itself into bone after slicing right through her barriers, only to be cut out by a doctor they paid on the side. The doc was well and hooked on Minagen X3, but as long as she wasn’t using her biotics for surgery, her hands were pretty steady.

Each touch over the faintly violet tissue made her shiver, and it wasn’t long before she was exploring her other scars; a jagged slice just under one arm, the spiderweb of damage from a well-timed reave against her shoulder. They would heal away in a century or so, leaving room for more.

She could hear her blood pulsing beneath her skin, chasing the path of her fingers. Black slowly rose in her eyes at the idle exploration, each surge of pleasure warming her more than the sun had dared.

"T’Loak."

The voice came from the doorway, startling her halfway from the haze of the drug. Pitch black eyes flickered upward, catching the gaze of the asari who spoke.

"Cala—mm." She cleared her throat. "Boss."

The older asari approached the bed, arms crossed. Cala’s features could only be called severe, with a well-carved jaw and cheekbones sharp enough to slit someone’s throat. Leading the gang led to a fair share of the latter, enough for tension to ripple through her shoulders, aware of what she’d been caught doing. And in Cala’s bed, no less.

"I thought you’d gone home." The mattress sank slightly as it took on Cala’s weight. "I didn’t see you downstairs."

Her brow knit, trying to focus her thoughts. “I can’t. She stopped paying my bail.”

"Your mother?" Cala asked.

She nodded, slowly. Half of why she had taken the Hallex was to forget about the shouting match the night before when she’d reappeared at her mother’s doorstep, bloodied and smiling from a fight at the bar down the street. She had only wanted to use the sink and a little bit of medigel, but it hadn’t taken long to escalate.

_I should have left you in prison._

Her jaw tensed at the memory, ill at ease with the euphoria forcefully working through her veins.

"You can stay here if you want, Aleena." Cala said, midnight blue fingers trailing over her ankle and up her calf. The older asari had never touched her before, not beyond a vicious backhand from a pistol once upon a time. She’d hesitated before taking a shot and had a bit of blood taken from her in turn. "You just had to ask."

"Don’t want to invade your place, boss." Her words were barely above a mumble, eyes locked on the path of Cala’s hand.

"Half the gang sleeps off their highs and hangovers on my floor." Calloused fingertips hesitated right at the curve of her knee. "Just ask."

She bit back her hesitation, the way that gentle pressure was making her shiver. “Can—can I stay?”

Cala’s smile reminded her of the sculpted demons outside the First Temple. They’d whispered temptations to the asari before Athame shielded them, drawing the unaware into the sea and shadows. Her mother had taken her there once, decades ago.

"Of course." Those slender fingers gently tugged on the tight fabric of her pants. "What did you take?"

"I-" It took her a moment to remember. "Just some Hallex."

"That explains it." Cala slowly leaned over her, blocking the light from the window. "Up for a little fun?"

The older asari’s tone was warm, almost liquid. Like the others, Aleena was used to buying a few rounds at the club and spending half her credits to earn a kiss or a firm grope from one of the dancers, but she’d never bothered to go further. No one had ever asked, and bravado had long kept her from admitting it.

"I haven’t-" She hesitated, waiting for Cala to disapprove, or worse, laugh.

"Haven’t done it while high?" A soft chuckle followed, but it seemed pleased rather than mocking. "You’ve been missing out."

She nodded again. It was close enough to the truth.

"I’ll be gentle." Cala’s fingers brushed across her jaw. "After all, I’ve been looking for a new lieutenant."

Her eyes widened slightly, still dark with arousal. The older asari silenced her question with a firm kiss. “Don’t tell Johara. Not a word.”

She couldn’t stop a glance at the knife she’d used to crush the capsules of Hallex. There was still powder on the blade, sitting bare on the table beside them. Cala followed her look, offering another wide smile.

"Not yet, Aleena. You’ll know when I want her gone."

When their bodies finally met, the older asari felt like marble beneath her hands, cold strength carved to perfection. She supposed Athame couldn’t spare the time to shield everyone.


	3. Benezia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References the Codex entry for Tevura, an ancient asari goddess of sex, law, and travel.
> 
> \---

She remembered being told once there was an ancient method of reading the future in tea leaves. While superstition had never brought her any comfort, she wished just for a moment it was possible, looking through the dark liquid between her hands to divine the grounds and stems at the bottom of the cup. If she had to hazard a guess, the future was that life was messy and unpredictable.

"Nezzy!" A familiar voice startled her from her dark reverie, reminding her that she was in a very crowded coffee shop. The booth she had secured in the corner guarded from some of her noise, but she couldn’t chastise her friend from yelling over the crowd.

She waved the matron over. “Saja, I’m over here.”

Saja carried a chilled breeze all the way to the table, undoing a woven white scarf that was stiff with ice. Winter had come early and relentlessly this year, keeping the streets of Serrice heavy and wet with snow. There was a faintly purple flush on the older asari’s face from the cold, not yet dispelled by the warmth inside.

"I told myself I could walk here." Saja laughed softly. "It’s just ten blocks."

"You’re going to get sick." She took the matron’s hands in hers, which nearly felt frozen solid. "Then I won’t have anyone to advise my speech tomorrow."

"Nothing some coffee and company won’t cure." Saja squeezed her hands and drew the waitress over with a smile, ordering a shot of espresso and some raspberry concoction she hadn’t dare try. It sounded more like a cup of whipped cream and syrup than proper coffee.

"That’s not the only thing I wanted to talk about." She said, unable to keep a somber tone from infecting her voice.

"Oh?" Saja’s brow knit. "What happened, Benezia?"

She waited the moment it took for Saja’s tray to come, grateful for the shop’s quick, and then mercifully absent service. There wouldn’t be anyone to interrupt them. Sliding one hand free, the matron took a quick sip of her espresso, looking that much warmer for it.

"I’ve been asked-" ‘Ask’ seemed too mild a word for it, with the weight behind the request. "-the ambassador asked if I would accompany her as a speaker to Khar’Shan."

"Goddess." Saja smiled. "That’s not a cause for mourning. We should have gone to a bar."

"Saja." She sighed softly. "I’m barely old enough to drink."

“‘Barely’ still counts.” Squeezing her fingers again, Saja’s elation slowly vanished. “That can’t be all there is to it, Nezzy. That’s an amazing opportunity.”

"She wants me to talk about how important Illium will be to establishing better relations between asari and the batarians. I can’t-" She could feel a headache coming on. Stewing in her own thoughts for an hour had put a knot square between her shoulder blades. "I just don’t have the experience."

"Ambassador T’Hani worked on the Citadel Conventions and put together the proposal to bring the turians onto the Council, Nezzy." A fraction of Saja’s smile returned. "She’s one of the most experienced diplomats in the matriarchy. If she didn’t think you could pull it off, she wouldn’t have asked."

"Someone like you should be going. You’re nearing your fourth century, young but still experienced. Everything you’ve done to bring foreign exchange students to the university-"

"-Is very different than galactic politics." The matron gently interrupted. "It’s local. Convincing the dean to be lenient on a few citizenship applications isn’t the same as negotiating over eezo rights and religious freedom."

"You’re the Political Science advisor." She murmured.

"And I’m sure once I have tenure, I’ll be happy to tout that title around, but right now I’m your friend." Saja said. "A very good one who would love a mention in your memoir once you’re dominating the galactic theatre."

She nearly felt herself blush. “Saja.”

"Your paper on colonization made it all the way up to High Command in your sophomore year, Benezia." Picking up the cup flush with cream and crimson syrup, the matron took a long sip. "Goddess, that’s sweet."

"You say that every time." Fondness lingered in her tone. "And that paper was the product of six weeks of frenzied research and more caffeine than a body should ever consume. I just wanted an entry before the next review cycle went through. I never expected it to get more than a brief nod, especially when it’s only a fraction of what I had to say."

"I’m sure you have plenty to say on Illium." Saja smiled.

"Of course I-" She muttered a soft curse under her breath. "Yes, of course I do."

"Then take the platform being offered to you on a silver platter. I’m sure you’ll be one of the youngest, if not the youngest, to receive the invitation."

Hiding her frustration in a brief sip of tea, she tried to gather her thoughts again. “But the summit is only a few weeks away. I’m going to have to get special permission to put my finals on hold or do them over a terminal during the trip. My apartment still has five years left on the lease-“

"Which Ambassador T’Hani will have taken care of for you with a wave of her hand." Despite the protests, Saja seemed entirely nonplussed. "She funded the entire university library, you know."

She hesitated for a moment, lips pursing together in a tight line. Saja leaned forward, slender fingers seeking hers to squeeze them gently again.

"Tell me what’s really bothering you, Benezia."

Embarrassment burned like bile in her throat. “I’ve never been away from home.” She said softly. “I took shuttles out to the first colonies, but they were always a day’s flight from Thessia. Every alien dignitary I’ve met was in the ambassador’s company, with her to guide me through any social pitfalls. Going to the batarian homeworld to speak…it’s terrifying.”

"It’s normal to be afraid." The matron’s smile, open and genuine, was hard to dissuade. "Why don’t you go to one of Tevura’s temples?"

"Tevura?" Her brow knit. "I hadn’t thought about it."

"She offers succor to every traveler, Nezzy." Saja’s hands finally returned to the other side of the table, seeming determined to finish the coffee before it went cold. "I know you were raised with siari, but something about those old walls is surprisingly comforting."

"But isn’t she-" There didn’t seem to be a polite way to put it. "More known for her other pursuits?"

The older asari shrugged. “It was her temple that sought to ensure prostitutes were allowed without restriction by law. If you can call her priestesses by that name. They don’t get paid for following a sacred calling, just essentials and housing.”

"Have you ever been?" She asked.

"Once." Saja admitted. "My mother is a very traditional Athamist. In her province, it was normal to spend a night in Tevura’s embrace after reaching maturity."

"Does that happen in the cities?" It was hard to hide the surprise in her voice. "Most of the matriarchs I’ve met are very…focused on a monotheistic frame."

"By the old stories, Tevura was Athame’s consort, Benezia." The matron reached for a spoon, scooping an impressive amount of whipped cream out of the bottom of the cup. "It wouldn’t exactly do for them to discuss that in light of current…politics."

Although she had guessed the truth, it was still bitter to hear. The current climate seemed obsessed with bloodlines, ‘expansion’ and ‘diversification’ thrown around as barely coded bywords for a push towards mixed asari pairings. It was one of the first things the ambassador had suggested she should never talk about if she wanted to see a long career.

"Do you really think it would help?"

She had never seen Saja look embarrassed before. “It was very enlightening. She was beautiful and kind, but more than anything else, she seemed to know exactly what was bothering me. Every problem, no matter how superficial. And she let me talk for hours. Everything felt…lighter afterwards.”

"I suppose it couldn’t hurt." She finally said, looking down into her cup again. The tea was still dark, offering no more answers than before. "Something for the memoir later."

The matron laughed softly. “If your priestess is anything like mine, yes.”

Although the conversation quickly faded to more familiar topics, she found her thoughts lingering on the mention of Tevura. Saja left her with a soft kiss to her brow and a promise to ensure any necessary arrangements would be made. The coffee house slowly emptied itself out over the evening, and she had settled for ordering a few small things from their menu for dinner rather than going anywhere else. It felt like her feet were frozen to the floor.

Then they began to carry her out to the street. After tightly wrapping her coat around her, she looked up directions on her omnitool and began to walk. More than one skycar selling taxi service tried to flag her down, but something about the cold was clearing her head. There was no consideration of the time or distance, only the small display on her wrist to guide her to what the front of the temple looked like.

She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting. Siarist communes were often in a very modern style, while Athame possessed towering stone monuments to her name. Tevura’s temple was a fairly simple affair, decorated with carved wood and colored glass, lights strategically placed around the exterior to offer the feeling of warmth. Even in the shadows, she could see a lush garden, the flowers and herbs arranged into odd shapes. It took her a moment to realize where the colors differentiated, sketching out a map of the roads and rivers that wove their way through the entirety of Serrice. It was beautiful.

The silence outside made her briefly concerned that the temple had closed for the evening, but ringing the chime at the front door immediately drew an attendant. The girl led her to a bright anteroom, the interior of which was filled with ancient frescoes of sailors and traders. Despite what had to be centuries of wear, the paint was still amazingly vibrant, portraying every shade of the seas and sky.

Almost every priestess she had met had been willowy, leading her to wonder if sacred study led to habitual forgetfulness of meals. Without Saja’s regular insistence, she might have ended up the same way. The asari that approached her through a carved wooden arch, however, was anything but.

She wasn’t particularly accustomed to the presence of soldiers, but the priestess’ broad shoulders, the smooth lines of muscle beneath indigo skin, couldn’t let her picture anything but a warrior. A white sleeveless tunic and trousers made for a fairly simplistic outfit, but it was the serenity she saw in that muscled frame, paired with a sharp intelligence in bright green eyes, that captured her attention.

"My name is Ijal." Like some kind of cruel joke, the priestess’ voice flowed like water, soothing like a balm against her skin. If this was who Tevura drew to the temples, she had little trouble discerning how the goddess had maintained a presence on Thessia. "I was told you wished to speak with a priestess."

"Yes." She let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. "My friend told me that Tevura…gives succor to travelers. I’m about to find myself very far from home."

Ijal smiled. “Then you’ve been guided to the right place. Follow me.”

Some miracle of architecture had made the temple far larger inside than it appeared without; she felt like she was being led through a maze. Ijal explained a few rituals and holidays she had only passing familiarity with as well as the art on the walls, some of which was fairly explicit, even for the era. It was when the priestess let silence fall between them that she found herself speaking, setting free everything that had been lingering in the back of her mind and poisoned her thoughts.

And when Ijal asked her if she wished to stay the night, there was nothing on her lips but _yes_.


	4. Samara

Mirah’s lips were soft against hers, the kiss drawn out until they both had to retreat for breath. She felt a flush of warmth rise to her cheeks, and enough courage to start toying with the hem of the other maiden’s skirt. The scent of spring surrounded them both, drawn out from the flowers nestled between blades of grass. Technically no one was supposed to be on this side of the park, but the gate cordoning it off had an impressively flimsy lock.

"Samara." There was the hesitant breath, the chastisement she’d been waiting for.

"She won’t find out." Her fingers stilled. "I swear it."

Mirah’s brow knit with concern. “But what it someone does? Nida just got suspended from the university because her father caught her with another asari.”

"She got suspended because the girl wasn’t of age, Mirah." She offered a small smile. "We both are."

The smile was slowly returned, followed by a laugh. “How would you know? You don’t go there anymore.”

She shrugged. “I have better things to do than spend another decade memorizing ancient history to impress a few professors.”

"You could go back and change your major." Mirah shook her head, but the smile didn’t fade. "It would be better than getting another concussion trying to sign up with the commandos."

"They’re too regimented for me anyways." She said casually. "There’s a mercenary unit I’m going to talk to tomorrow. They’re contracted to explore past the last relay. Since it’s a long contract, they’re looking for new members to fill their ranks a little."

Mirah froze, waiting for the laugh, any sign of a joke. “Samara. You’re not serious.”

Her eyes flickered upward from the younger maiden’s skirt, the way the fabric contrasted with the spectrum of green in the grass. “Why wouldn’t I be serious?”

"Those transports don’t come back for decades. You’re barely a hundred."

She shifted onto her back, starting to trace out a pattern in the leaves of the tree above them. “Decades where I’ll learn more than I ever would in any school.”

"Your mother would kill you." Mirah said softly.

Letting out a soft huff of breath, she waited for the hurt to fade from the other maiden’s eyes. It wasn’t. “I’ll be earning my own credits. She doesn’t have a say in the matter.”

Silence lingered between them, long enough for the shadows of the branches to shift like a touch across Mirah’s face. The next words were barely above a whisper.”Do I?”

She bit her lip. “You need to graduate. Every artist’s guild from here to New Alara wants to apprentice you. You already have a sculpture on display in Serrice. The first of many.”

"And the historians would take you back in an instant, Samara." Mirah sighed. "I’ve never known anyone who knew the old stories like you do. Every legend, every ancient queen. And by some miracle, you make it sound interesting."

"It _is_ interesting.” Even to herself, she sounded overly insistent. “But I can’t stand sitting still. There’s so much of the galaxy to see.”

The quiet that followed felt like a lead weight on her chest. She let her eyes close, wracking her mind for the right thing to say. Despite Mirah’s compliment, she knew she had always been better with actions than words.

Her thoughts promptly ceased when Mirah’s lips found hers again. There was a suddenness, an urgency, behind the gesture, but she immediately responded. When her eyes opened again, there was a hint of darkness piercing through icy blue.

"You don’t have to-" She began.

"I want to." Mirah interrupted, offering another kiss, which was as eagerly returned as the first. "Because mercenaries or not, I know something, someday, is going to take you away."

"It’s not you." The words sounded weak, not near enough. They never would be.

"I know." The younger maiden guided her hands to the smoothly woven fabric of the skirt, encouraging its slow upward slide. "And some day I’ll carve a statue, and when people ask who it is, I’ll tell them it’s from the time I loved a wanderer."

At the word ‘love’, her lips parted in shock, the weight on her breast becoming a steady ache. Her response was silenced with another gentle kiss, finding her thoughts scattered when her fingers were allowed to trace the white markings along the inside of Mirah’s thighs. When their eyes met again, she felt a subtle pressure rise from her nape, darkness swelling out of sympathy in their shared gaze.

"If your mother finds out-"

Mirah’s laugh was light, almost melodic. “We can’t be bound to our mothers forever, Samara. How many times have you said as such to me?”

She sighed, feeling that frisson of heat beneath her skin again. “Nearly a hundred.”

The next words were whispered just a centimeter from her lips. “Then let me.”

She might have said yes once or a dozen times; she could never quite recall. It was meaningless compared to how Mirah’s mind felt entwined with hers, the way touch doubled through their bodies, only to be echoed again. Thought itself felt like a caress across her skin as they indulged in every old memory; the day they met, their first kiss. Mirah’s lips soothing bruises across her knuckles from a sparring practice. The way the younger maiden looked when Samara lost herself at the sight of half-finished sculptures decorating a cramped studio, the stone and clay appearing brought to life.

It was then she realized why they called the meld eternity.


End file.
